The chase always the urge.

Desk huddling,
heels to the world,
stoop peering at the blurs,
fingerdancing a song of words,
chasing the ghosts of a vowel music.
I'm not here,
I'm not there,
Beyond this manufacture
if only for a whisp
but enough to perhaps belay tonight
some delicacy of truth.
Afloat, uncatchable yet
its shape a shimmer,
like love passing through you,
a mystery I should know.
But the chase always the urge,
I'll stoop again.